Steel and Valor: An Epic Military Fantasy Novel (The Silent Champions Book 3)

by Andy Peloquin

  “Who…the fuck…are you?” Gengibar Twist snarled into Aravon’s masked face.

  “I’m the man who’s holding your life in his hands,” Aravon growled. “Now tell your men to back off.” He didn’t say “or else”—he simply pressed the spear tighter against the man’s throat.

  “Back!” Gengibar spat.

  A quiet rustling from Aravon’s right told him the Brokers had complied with their leader’s orders. Either that, or they prepared to charge—he had to hope they wouldn’t do anything so stupid, especially not when facing two archers, two shield-bearing warriors, a giant with a massive axe, and…Zaharis.

  Anger blazed in Gengibar Twist’s lone eye. “Now what…the bloody hell…do you want?”

  “Your help.” Aravon removed his hand and spear from the man’s throat. “Because it’s going to take all of us to save Icespire.”

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  “Save—?” Gengibar’s single unruined eyebrow shot toward his dark hairline. “Are you mad?! There are ten thousand bloody Eirdkilrs out there!”

  “Eight thousand, actually.” Belthar stepped toward the stunned Broker and, to Aravon’s surprise, removed his mask. “But there’s one thing they don’t know about us Glimmertrash: we’re bloody hard to kill.”

  Gengibar’s jaw dropped. Gasps of shocked surprise echoed from the thugs facing the formed-up Grim Reavers.

  Belthar moved to stand at Aravon’s side, looming over Gengibar Twist and glaring down at the Broker with a fury hot enough to melt stone. “I should kill you where you stand for what you did.”

  “What I did?” Gengibar snarled up at Belthar, uncowed by the menace in the big man’s voice. “I owe you far worse than death, the way you let Inaia die!” He turned toward Belthar and squared off against him. “I loved her, you bastard!”

  “If you truly loved her,” Belthar growled. “You would have let her go. Because when you truly care about someone—” Aravon didn’t miss the way the big man’s eyes darted to the side, toward Skathi. “—you respect them enough to let them choose their fate. By your side or on their own.” He jabbed a huge finger into Gengibar’s chest. “You may call it love, but you imprisoned her, trapped her in this life of yours and offered her no choice at all. You or death. Can you really be surprised that she begged me to let her die?”

  A spasm of rage twisted Gengibar’s scarred face. Fire blazed in his one good eye and his hand dropped toward the dagger on his belt.

  The Broker’s fingers never touched the hilt. Despite his size, Belthar was far faster. His ham-sized fists closed around Gengibar’s hand with bone-crushing force.

  “I will never forgive you,” Belthar spoke in a low, harsh whisper, his voice edged with steel sharp enough to cut the tunnel’s stone walls. “Never forget what I did. What I had to do because I loved my sister enough to let her choose her fate. Like you said, Gengibar, I owe you far worse than death.”

  Gengibar glared defiance up at Belthar, his jaw thrust out in a stubborn set, as if daring the big man to follow through.

  But Belthar only shook his head. “But if I kill you here, then we have no chance of survival,” he rumbled.

  “And I care about the people of Icespire more than I want to rip off your head and piss on your corpse.”

  “Do your worst, Belthar.” Gengibar Twist spat the word. His eyes were sharp and hard as daggers, his tone dripping acid. “Because I’d rather die trying to kill you than face that ravenous horde of Eirdkilrs.”

  “You always were a craven son of a bitch,” Belthar snarled.

  “No, I’m a survivor!” Gengibar hurled the word back in his face. “When the idiots running the Brokers got greedy, tried to squeeze the Bayrise Hill-folk for gold, it was me who kept us alive. Me who found a way to keep to the shadows, evade the Prince’s notice.” A furious sneer curled up his lip and a flush darkened the scar tissue marring the right side of his face. “We’re not all muscle-bound idiots who can go off and play hero. Some of us are condemned to live with Glimmer shite beneath our fingernails our entire lives!”

  Aravon spoke up now, stepping forward. “And that’s what makes you perfect to help us ensure Icespire survives this attack.”

  At his silent hand signal, Belthar released his grip on Gengibar Twist and moved back a half-pace—close enough to strike should the Broker make a move for Aravon. Yet, by the look in the man’s eye, Aravon knew he wouldn’t risk it, not with the sharp steel head of Aravon’s spear so close to his throat. Like he said, he was a survivor. The instincts that had kept him alive through years living in the slums of Icespire, operating under the eyes of the Icewatch, were exactly what they needed.

  “You didn’t try to flee the city.” Aravon gestured around him. “With these tunnels and your smuggling cove, you could have gotten your bone-thumpers and runners far out of harm’s way the moment the alarm was raised. You didn’t make a break for the gates or lose your head in a panic. Instead, you came down here, where you knew you were safe.” The underground passages were clearly a well-kept secret—he’d certainly never heard of them in all his years living in Icespire. “But you didn’t come alone. You didn’t just bring your fellow criminals. You made sure others were safe, too.”

  Gengibar’s gaze slid past Aravon, darting toward the men, women, and children lining the tunnel walls. “Only a fool would leave his family behind, and I don’t tolerate idiots in my Brokers.”

  “If you were the truly cruel, heartless bastard you’ve convinced yourself you are, you wouldn’t have given two shites about what your men wanted.” Aravon met the man’s gaze. “The fact that you actually recognize the fact that men need to care for their families puts you leagues ahead of half the cold-hearted, conniving sons-of-bitches that run rampant in this world.” He stabbed a finger at the man. “Life’s dealt you the worst possible hand, and you’ve had to make the best of it. But no matter how much it kicked the crap out of you, some goodness remained. The goodness that saved these people from certain death.”

  “Goodness?” Gengibar Twist snorted. “Your heroic horse shite might work for a Legion recruiter, but there’s not a Keeper-damned thing you can say that will convince me to join the battle against the Eirdkilrs. That’s what the Prince and his bloody Icewatch is for, ain’t it?”

  “Just how long do you expect the Icewatch to hold out?” Aravon shook his head. “You’ve been living here for years, been ruling your own slice of Icespire right under their noses. Tell me, what are the odds they actually hold the city gates?”

  “My point precisely!” Gengibar Twist railed. He swept a hand toward his fellow Brokers and the civilians. “So me and mine are going to stay here where it’s safe, and we’re going to let the idiots paid to fight go off and die.”

  “And in doing so, condemn the rest of Icespire to die with them.” Aravon met the man’s single eye, his gaze firm, unwavering. “Not just the lords and ladies of Azure Island, the ones who called you Glimmertrash and treated you as refuse your entire lives. But the people of the Glimmer, of Littlemarket, of Eastway, and every other corner of this city.” He jabbed a finger into the Broker’s lean chest. “Your people. Your city.”

  For the first time, Gengibar Twist had no retort. His anger hadn’t dimmed and his jaw remained set in a stubborn cast, but he didn’t dismiss Aravon’s words outright. That was progress—at least, Aravon hoped so.

  He pressed on. “I’m not asking for your help dealing with the Eirdkilrs head-on. I’m asking you to help me save the people of Icespire by doing the one thing we can’t do.”

  Gengibar Twist sneered. “Big, brave hero like you, what could there possibly be that you couldn’t do?”

  “Get the people of Icespire to safety.” Aravon spoke in a quiet voice. “Look around you, Gengibar. These six soldiers behind me, they’re all we’ve got.”

  A sudden tension rippled through the cave. Aravon saw it in the calculating look in Gengibar Twist’s eyes, the rustling of the Broker bone-thumpers moving, squaring up, as if con
sidering rushing the Grim Reavers. Only a fool revealed his true strength of numbers to an enemy, especially one that wanted him dead. Yet in this case, Aravon counted it a risk worth taking.

  Aravon’s gesture included himself and the Grim Reavers. “There’s no way the seven of us could get through the entire city of Icespire before the Eirdkilrs get in. The Icewatch holding the gate will be overwhelmed, or simply crack in the face of a battle they’ve never trained to fight. We could run around the city and shout ourselves ragged, and we’d get a tiny fraction of the populace to safety.” He jabbed a finger at Gengibar Twist. “But with your network of Brokers, the scores you have working for you, all your contacts around the city, you could spread the word to every corner of Icespire in a fraction of the time. Let people know to get someplace safe.”

  “Safe?” Gengibar Twist’s eye narrowed to a dark, glittering point. “Where could there possibly be anywhere safe with the bloody Eirdkilrs at the Keeper-damned gates?!”

  “Azure Island.” Aravon spoke the words in a quiet voice, yet they rang with command. “Once the bridges come down, the Eirdkilrs will have no way to get at us.”

  “Azure—?” Gengibar threw up his hands. “You think the poncy toffs are just going to let us gutter-shites across the bridge?”

  “Yes.” Aravon spoke without hesitation. “Because of this.” He drew out the Prince’s insignia. “And because if they try and stop me, I’m going to have Belthar here do what he does best.”

  Belthar’s knuckles gave a series of loud cracks as he tightened his grip on his axe handle.

  “The choice is yours.” Aravon met the man’s solitary eye, his gaze piercing. “Skulk in the shadows, knowing that everyone you ever called your friend, neighbor, or acquaintance is going to die—no two ways about it, because the Eirdkilrs will torture and kill everyone they can once they breach the gates. Or, you be true men of Icespire and risk your life for the sake of people who, like you, have been kicked in the teeth by life a thousand times. People who don’t deserve the fate that I guarantee you awaits them if you cower here.”

  Again, the calculating look entered Gengibar Twist’s eye and his lips pressed into a pensive frown.

  “What would Inaia have done?” Belthar rumbled. “What would she have wanted you to do?”

  Fury blazed on the Broker leader’s face at the mention of the name. Yet mingled there, Aravon caught a glimmer of realization, acknowledgement of Belthar’s words.

  Long seconds passed in tense silence. “Say I agree to help,” Gengibar finally snarled, “what’s in it for me and my people? Us Glimmertrash—” His eye snapped to Belthar. “—like you used to be before you turned your back on us.”

  “Whatever you want.” Aravon lowered his spear. “You help us, you have my word that the Prince himself will know of the role you and your people played in the salvation of his subjects.”

  Gengibar Twist snorted. “Ooh, the Prince!” His tone turned mocking. “High and mighty ruler of Icespire, you think he gives a wet shite about us?”

  Belthar rumbled a warning growl in his throat. “Say what you will about the fancy nobs of Azure Island, but I’ve stared the Prince in the eye, shaken his hand. There are few men on Fehl—in all our world—as honorable as him. And Captain Snarl. So when he says that you will be rewarded for your help, you can take that to the Coin Counter’s Temple because it’s better than gold.” A sneer tugged at his upper lip. “That’s appeal enough for the greedy son of a bitch you always were.”

  Anger blazed across Gengibar’s scarred features, and a storm of dark, furious shadows brewed in his eye.

  But Aravon could see what Belthar, in his rage and grief over his sister’s death and his hellish past, could not. Gengibar Twist, like so many others cursed to a life of struggle and misery, had hardened himself, built walls of anger, violence, and hostility around his heart and soul. Not only to keep out others that could hurt him, but to hide his own pain at being forgotten and abandoned by life. But somewhere, deep down, a flicker of goodness remained. Like an ember guttering in gale winds, barely clinging to life yet still there. A shred of decency had led him to save these civilians, hundreds of them. Aravon had to hope that same decency would motivate the Broker, no matter how much he tried to insist otherwise.

  “Just because I’m not ordering my men to kill the lot of you,” Gengibar Twist snarled, “that doesn’t mean I’ll forget this.”

  Aravon grinned beneath his mask. “And just because I’m not cutting your throat or letting Belthar pound you to a pulp, that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten that you worked with Lord Virinus to steal the Prince’s gold. Gold that could have been used to hire Legionnaires that would even now be protecting this city from the Eirdkilrs.”

  Gengibar’s face hardened. No remorse sparkled in his eye, yet written in the lines around his mouth was a hint of grudging acknowledgement.

  “But for now, we set aside our mutual desire to see each other die so that we can keep this bloody city of ours alive.” Aravon grounded the butt of his spear with a clank of iron on stone. “Maybe that will sustain you long enough to get your men and Icespire through this alive.”

  “Alive, to make sure the lot of you pay!” Gengibar Twist’s threat lacked real teeth. Aravon had seen enough officers feigning harshness in front of their men to recognize the façade necessary to save face. If it meant he lent a hand, he was welcome to the farce.

  Noll snorted. “We’ll be sure to save you a dance at the celebration feast.”

  “Now,” Skathi put in, “if we’re all done with this prick-measuring contest, what say we get on with the business of saving the Keeper-damned city?”

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Aravon drew in a deep breath as he stepped out of the underground tunnel and into the chaos gripping Icespire.

  The staircase ascended from the passage to a secret trapdoor that opened into a house, sparsely furnished and bare of any adornments. Through the open window, Aravon recognized the simple, narrow brick and wood structures of Littlemarket. The stink of the tanneries, dyers, and smithies faded beneath the choking cloud of smoke that hung in a pall over the city.

  A few hundred yards from where they stood, just beyond the barrier of the city wall, the Outwards burned. The gold-and-crimson light of the inferno bathed Icespire in a harsh, violent brilliance that seemed amplified by the screams, cries, and shouts of the terrified people racing through the cobblestone streets. Even with the wall between them and the flames, the waves of heat were terrible, pressing in around them, choking, sweltering.

  Aravon rounded on Gengibar Twist, who stood at the head of his Brokers—forty or fifty bone-thumpers, thieves, and shadow-runners, joined by another four score men, women, and fresh-faced youths that Gengibar had conscripted to help.

  “Our first stop is Westbridge,” he told the Broker, “and we’ll make sure the guards there know what to expect. From there, we deal with Southbridge and finish off at Eastbridge. You and yours—”

  “Don’t waste your breath!” Gengibar Twist snapped. “My Brokers take orders from no one but me.”

  Aravon shrugged. “So be it.” He shot the man a grin, the effect lost beneath his leather mask. “Until the next time we try to kill each other, Gengibar Twist.”

  “Rot in hell, Captain Snarl!” Again, the snarl lacked real fangs. The two of them had little chance of being friends—hell, even friendly—but Aravon doubted that the Broker leader would go out of his way to hunt him down and slit his throat. Should they meet in a dark alley, of course, all bets were off.

  With a nod, Aravon signaled to his Grim Reavers to move out.

  A wall of sound assaulted Aravon’s ears as Noll opened the door to the house. Screams and cries of abject panic reverberated through the fire-lit streets and alleys of Littlemarket. Men and women rushed about, clutching children to their breasts or dragging them by the hand to the shelter of their homes and shops. Doors slammed shut, windows shuttered, and locking bars thumped into place. Yet the safety o
ffered by those buildings was a myth. When the Eirdkilrs got into the city, no door, window, or wall of brick or wood could hold them out.

  The reek of smoke grew thicker, too, so dense that it clogged Aravon’s lungs and burned the back of his throat. Fires consumed a handful of houses throughout Littlemarket—how many panicking civilians had knocked over candles, lamps, or lanterns? The Eirdkilrs hadn’t even breached the wall, and their mere presence had already cast the city of Icespire into chaos.

  Aravon ached to help the terrified civilians surging through the streets around him, but he’d waste precious time trying to bring some semblance of order to this chaos. He had to trust that Gengibar Twist and his Brokers would handle their task. It was up to him to make certain the people actually had a safe place to go.

  “Belthar, get us to the Westbridge,” Aravon signed. He knew they were in Littlemarket, but where precisely, he couldn’t be certain. Belthar’s familiarity with the Mains far exceeded his; they needed the fastest route to the bridge possible.

  With a nod, Belthar moved out. The big man once again took point, with Skathi at his side. Rangvaldr and Colborn flanked Aravon, shields held at the ready. Noll’s short horsebow and Zaharis’ mace brought up the rear.

  Their small company moved through the chaos, the single island of calm and order amidst the panic that gripped Icespire. Terrified men and women made way as the Grim Reavers ran through the streets north and west toward the Westbridge.

  The narrow streets of Littlemarket soon gave way to the broader avenues and towering three- and four-story stone and brick structures of Bayrise Hill. Here, the wealthier merchants cowered within the safety of their sturdier mansions. Solid oak doors guarded by iron locks and heavy bars might hold out the Eirdkilrs. For a while, at least. A few of the merchants even had guards to protect their wealth. How long would those guards last against a horde of howling, screaming Eirdkilrs? Minutes, not hours. Aravon could only hope Gengibar Twist and his Brokers got to the Bayrisers in time.